


...And a happy new year

by sumhowe_sailing



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Fluff, M/M, lots and lots of fluff, that's it that's all this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 08:43:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13143078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumhowe_sailing/pseuds/sumhowe_sailing
Summary: Bunny tries to find the perfect gift for Raffles.





	...And a happy new year

**Author's Note:**

> A secret santa gift for boatticelli.
> 
> (I'm sorry I'm so bad at titles)

The evening of that crisp December day brought with it the first suggestive flakes of snow. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the distant London chimneys, the brief flurry seemed to die away. But as Bunny sat, gazing out at the gentle glow of the street lamps, watching the darkness gather around the edges of those soft circles of light, the snow gradually returned.

“There you are, dear boy.”

Bunny did not glance away from the peaceful scene outside, only leaned back a little into the warmth of the hand now resting on his shoulder.

“A.J., I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’m glad to know I’m not losing my touch,” Raffles laughed.

“It’s snowing.”

“An astute observation.”

Bunny wrinkled his nose in annoyance—a futile gesture, as Raffles was gazing too raptly out the window to see it.

 

That first snowfall arrived just in time to put Bunny in a truly festive spirit. He only had a week and a half left to prepare—to find a gift for Raffles—before the holiday was upon them. In the old days they seldom spent the holidays together, though they did sometimes run into each other at the club. Then Raffles was always in a hurry, headed to some other grand party, while Bunny had nowhere else to go but to seek the solace of less wholesome spirits. Then, he had had the cash, but no confidence that he was welcome to buy presents for anyone. Now he knew he would be spending Christmas with Raffles, but hadn’t the cash to do anything special.

He did have a little left over from their last job. Unfortunately, since moving to Ham Common, their jobs were rare and never exactly lucrative. He knew he had enough to get a box of Sullivans, but, rare indulgence though that was, it felt wildly inadequate. He bought it anyway. Still, he wanted to do something more. He hadn’t given much thought to what he would get for Raffles before the snow began to fall, yet now that he’d begun to think of it, he could think of little else. He knew there was no perfect gift. How could he possibly find something that said “I love you, absolutely, unconditionally, with every fiber of my being, even when you’re acting like a complete ass” all at once?

He spent entire afternoons sneaking away to town to browse through shops; even without letting price tags hinder him, he did not see a single thing that felt truly perfect. One idea kept occurring to him, but every time he noticed it floating at the edges of his mind, he did his best to push it out of consciousness altogether. He couldn’t just _make_ something for Raffles, it was absurd. He had no skills, except perhaps with his pen, and even if he did make something it still wouldn’t be _enough_. Nothing would ever really be enough. But some things were closer than others and he just didn’t think anything he could do on his own would be worth taking notice of.

He considered everything. From silver rings to golden cups, from simple scarves to cozy quilts. Even the practical gifts wouldn’t do. They were things Raffles already had. And the shiny gifts would be no better. He may not have had the same keen appreciation of all types of beauty as Raffles so naturally did, but he had learned enough to know that none of these would please A.J.’s sense of aesthetic wonder. He considered other options, too. What if he bought them a pet? But no, he would want Raffles to help make that decision. What if he planned a holiday for them? No again, he would still want Raffles to guide those choices. What if he found him a book? But Raffles had little interest in reading most days.

When he realized how rapidly he was running out of time, Bunny locked himself in his room. It was an overdramatic reaction, to be sure, but he doubted Raffles would notice. He was painting or plotting or _something_ in the library and may well be there all evening. Bunny prepared his quill, found a few blank sheets of paper, and took a deep breath. He didn’t have time to overthink this. It wouldn’t be perfect, it may not even be good. But Raffles had always seemed to like his poetry, so damn it all he _would_ write something. He may not even need it, but he would have it, just in case. He twirled his pen for a moment before he leaned forward to write.

 

A softer soul in thee doth dwell, o Thief

Than thou the world dare tell;

But I, my love, I know thee well

 

He had begun the lines thinking he might write a sonnet. By the third, though, he knew he’d just hit upon a refrain. The poem had taken on a life of its own, and he would follow where it led. In short, vague stanzas he attempted to describe the things about Raffles that he loved the most. His eyes, his nimble hands, yes, but more importantly the dozens of quirks and characteristics that simply made him who he was. The selflessness so unexpected in a cracksman, the sense of chivalry, the unshakable trust between them. It went on—and on. He had no idea how long he’d been working on the poem, only that the sun was substantially lower in the sky than the last time he’d checked when he finally wrote

 

All these and yet a thousand more;

Reasons to love thee by the score.

Aye, my love, I know thee well.

 

He set his pen down and stretched his arms. The poem rambled several pages longer than it needed to. There were one or two slant rhymes in it that made him wince. But it was there, on the page. He could edit it later, after he’d had some time to clear his mind.

 

 

“Good morning, darling.”

“Merry Christmas, A.J.”

“Is it?” Raffles asked, raising an eyebrow. Honestly, the stage had lost a wonderful actor. Only the slight twitch at the edge of his lips gave away the game. Bunny shoved him playfully before climbing out of bed. Donning his dressing gown, he wandered to the window. It was snowing again.

“She’ll be wanting us over for Christmas dinner soon,” A.J. yawned behind him, still sprawled in bed.

“Mmmm.”

“Shall we do presents now?”

“No,” Bunny replied as casually as he could. He still wasn’t entirely confident in his gift. It had consumed nearly all his time these last few days, editing to the extent of nearly rewriting the entire thing. Really, he’d only stopped long enough to sleep and to take his meals with A.J.—who, he couldn’t help noticing, had also been spending absurd amounts of time hidden away on his own. But he had had no time to find out why; he’d been too busy with the poem. After all that effort, he wanted to at least savor the exchange—not rush through the poem just to get to dinner on time.

“No?”

“Let’s wait.”

“But the anticipation, Bunny! I don’t know if I can stand it.”

“Oh what a pity, what a shame.”

“How _can_ you be like this? Surely you’re dying to know what you’re getting this year?”

Truthfully, the thought had barely crossed his mind. He trusted that Raffles would find something perfect, that he would love it, and that if Raffles didn’t want him to know what it was, he wouldn’t be able to find out. He simply shrugged and wandered toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“The bathroom, A.J. Like you said, she’ll be expecting us soon. We ought to be getting ready.”

“Hang dinner, let’s just stay here. We can spend all day together, just the two of us.”

“Which will make such a contrast to all the other days, with our abundance of guests every hour.”

“Bunny, you’re utterly beastly sometimes. Here I am, missing you—yes! I feel we’ve hardly seen each other this past week—and the first chance we have to simply enjoy each other’s company, and you want to run off and have dinner with our landlady!”

“Unless you plan on learning to cook this morning? No? Then you ought to get out of bed and be grateful she’s willing to have us over.”

Bunny and common sense won out in the end; Raffles allowed Bunny to go dress for the day and grudgingly followed suit. He muttered unhappily through the entire process, but, when they finally made it to dinner, he was as charming and congenial as ever. The meal was wonderful—a bit simple perhaps, but cozy. Just what Bunny wanted. And when they had finished, Bunny actually had to persuade A.J. to leave.

“I say, old chap, for someone who was so eager to get there, you certainly were in a hurry to go.”

“We were there for _hours_ , A.J. I know she appreciated the company, but there are limits. I’m sure she had other plans for her evening; we wouldn’t want to keep her from them.”

“Be honest, Bunny, you just couldn’t wait another moment to find out what Saint Nick left for you.”

He would not dignify such an inane comment with a response. But he would, when Raffles rephrased the hint, happily sit down to exchange gifts at last. He gave Raffles the Sullivans first, and was gratified by their warm reception. And then, suddenly nervous, he produced the poem.

“Will you read it to me?”

“A.J., I—”

“Please?”

He should have foreseen this. Still, who was he to say no to Raffles? And for such a reasonable request (for once)? He cleared his throat, tried to will the blush to stop rising, and began reading the poem. When he had finished, Raffles gently took his hands and pulled him close. He pressed a kiss to Bunny’s forehead and simply held him for a long moment. It was not the reaction he had expected.

“Well,” Raffles chuckled, as if trying to cover the wave of emotion Bunny sensed in his trembling tone, “my turn now, I suppose. You’ll need to come up to the library for your gift, I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see, my dear.”

Too eager now to pretend annoyance at the minor inconvenience, Bunny stood to follow. When they got there, he waited patiently while Raffles lit every candle and lamp in the room. It did not take long to notice the easel set up near the window. The canvas on it was covered, and Raffles was taking his own sweet time getting round to revealing it. At last, though, he was ready. With a flick of the wrist and a showman’s flare, he drew the sheet away.

“Oh, A.J!” he gasped, stunned by what he saw. It was a portrait of himself. He was in his favorite chair, a book on his lap, gazing out the window. The colors were so soft it looked like a dream. “It’s beautiful!”

“Yes…yes, you are.”

Bunny elbowed him half-heartedly. A.J. retaliated by wrapping him in his arms.

“Merry Christmas, my dear rabbit.”

“Merry Christmas, A.J.”


End file.
